


Like Hot Soup and a Soft Bed

by TantalumCobalt



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Art, comfort food/item, hc_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9103615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TantalumCobalt/pseuds/TantalumCobalt
Summary: Sometimes comfort can come from the most unexpected sources. Other times, it's exactly where you expect to find it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kanarek13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/gifts).



> Finally getting around to posting my hc bingo entries (better late than never...)! This one fills my wild card square with "comfort food/item" and is dedicated to the amazingly talented Kanarek13, who's art inspired the idea for this.
> 
> Title is from the quote "there's a sorrow and pain in everyone's life, but every now and then there's a ray of light that melts the loneliness in your heart and brings comfort like hot soup and a soft bed" by Hubert Shelby Jr.
> 
> Edit: a few people said the art wasn't working. It's loading on my computer but I've also never uploaded an image to AO3 before so I don't actually know what I'm doing. So if it's not working for you, you can find the art [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6610648).
> 
> Edit again (because I'm hopeless with technology): Thanks to everyone who was super helpful with the link in the comments. Love to you all <3 I think I've (maybe) got it this time. The link just goes to Kanarek13's original post :)

 

He's not staring at it, not intentionally, but he finds his gaze drawn back to it each time he looks away. The folder in his hands is sidelined by the light grey material taunting him from the arm of the couch. One sleeve is dangling over the edge, the cuff teasing the edges of Satchmo's ears where the lab is lying at their feet, just like Neal is being teased by thoughts of how soft and warm it might be. 

"Neal. Just put on the sweatshirt."

He startles at Peter's voice, wide blue eyes turning toward his partner in reflexive innocence. "I wasn't-"

Peter rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you were."

"I'm fine. It's not that cold."

"You're shivering."

Neal frowns, unable to refute that. Fine tremors are raising goosebumps along his arms beneath the thin material of his shirt. Hesitantly, he grabs the sweatshirt and pulls it, tugging off his tie and zipping the hoodie up. When he glances over at him, Peter is smiling, fond and amused. Neal fiddled with the strings as he mutters a quiet, "Thanks."

"Anytime," Peter says as though lending Neal his sweatshirt doesn't mean anything - to him, it probably doesn't. His attention returns to the file he's making notes from. 

Happily encased in the soft grey fuzz, Neal attempts to focus on the file in front of him as well. But now he's warm and comfortable and it's been a long day and-

Okay. So maybe he hasn't been getting as much sleep as he needs. But it's not his fault that Aaron Montgomery is practically an alcoholic. Between keeping up his cover as a bartender at the suspect's favourite bar and working at the office during the day, Neal hasn't had a lot of time to himself in the last week. 

He glances at his watch. It's almost twenty past two, which means he has a little over three hours until his shift at the bar starts. Fifteen minutes later, Peter gets up to make coffee so Neal takes the opportunity to put up his feet and stretch out on the couch. Maybe a different angle will help him find a metaphorical angle to break open their case. Then he can go home and shower, maybe even fit in a nap before he starts his night job. He nods to himself, resolved to find a way to crack Montgomery before the day is over.

He's asleep before Peter has finished stirring milk into the coffees.

\--

_He's sitting at the Burke's dining table. Peter is serving himself more mash to his right, Elizabeth is pouring another glass of wine to his left. Opposite him, at the head of the table, Satchmo is holding fort in a blue striped tie and fedora._

_Neal blinks. That's his blue striped tie and fedora. He looks down because if Satchmo is wearing his tie then what is he wearing?_

_Prison orange glares up at him. Over the jumpsuit, though, is soft grey, the thin material trying to cloak the ugliness of the orange. Neal glances up and finds Peter and Elizabeth watching him._

_"Aren't you going to eat anything, Neal?" Peter asks him. "It's your favourite."_

_Neal glances down at the cornish hens on his plate. They do look delicious. But when he lifts his hands to pick up his cutlery, he's stopped by the resistance of shackles around his wrist._

_"Neal?" Elizabeth is frowning at him._

_He stumbles back from the table, heavy metal turning his legs to useless lead. He falls, as graceless as a newborn foal, and when he glances up Peter and Elizabeth are still watching him, lips twisted with disappointment and pity. He wishes he could zip the grey up further so that it hides all traces of orange or swallows him whole._

"-eal, wake up."

There's a hand on his shoulder, someone shaking him. Neal peels his eyes open and finds almost-identical blue staring back at him.

"Elizabeth." He sits up, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair. "What time is it?"

"About four-thirty. Peter had to go meet up with Jones and Diana but he said they'll meet you outside the bar before your shift." She hands Neal his tie and hat. "Come on, I'll drive you back to June's."

It takes a Herculean effort not to fall asleep in the car. Elizabeth chatters about her latest event and Neal offers inane comments when appropriate, but by the time they pull up in Riverside Drive he can't even remember whether it was a wedding or a charity gala. He thanks Elizabeth, waves goodbye and goes up the front steps. It's as he's fumbling for his keys that he realises he's still wearing Peter's sweatshirt.

He sheds the soft grey material reluctantly and folds it neatly over the arm of the couch. As comfortable as it is, it's unfortunately not something his cover would be wearing to work. He changes into a t-shirt and leather jacket instead. Somehow, it's nowhere near as warm.

(Later, Peter will tell him he can have tomorrow off so he doesn't fall asleep on the job - either of them. He'll go to bed without setting an alarm but still wake up with the sun. He'll pick up the sweatshirt - thinking about washing it before he returns it - and slip it on as he waits for the coffee to perforate. It will, eventually, end up with the rest of his laundry. 

The sweatshirt never will make it back to Peter's wardrobe. Peter won't ask about it and Neal won't mention it, but they'll both know where it is and they'll both know what it means. When Neal fakes his death and runs away to Paris, it's the only slice of home he'll allow himself to take.

For now though, the grey material is forgotten on the couch, one arm dangling over the edge, the edges of the cuff barely brushing the hardwood floor.)

 


End file.
